I heaved out my insides until my throat was raw. My eyes had grown watery, and soon tears were streaming down my face. What has gotten into me? My whole body prickled like I was full of barbed wire, and my joints felt like rusted hinges. I couldn't force myself to get up, so I laid down in the small spaced between the toilet and the tub. I cried until I was too numb to feel my sobs convulsing my whole body. My breathing slowed into evenness, and I was now aware of the cool tile floor pressing into my back. I slowly flipped until I was lying on my stomach. My ribs stuck out and my prized possession - my hip bones - jutted out and made solid contact with the hard floor. It felt as though the tile was rising up and grinding my bones into a pile of fine powder. As I lay there, balanced precariously on my ribs and hip bones, I started thinking about the first time I wanted to vomit up my innards. Two years, eleven weeks, and three days ago marked the anniversary of both best and worst day of my life. It was the best because I had finally roped in the courage to transform myself into the beautiful shell of a person that I wanted to be. It was the worst because it became the start of an obsession that came with high prices to pay. Nobody tells you of the immense hated that you feel when you shove your finger down your throat. But they also don't tell you about the intense high you get right before you can feel the bile rising in your throat. Never mind that you crash as soon as your toxic insides are rapidly forced out of your body. The rush of excitement that comes with being able to control your own beauty is unlike any other.
